


what caused the wound, how large the teeth?

by sisinala



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben is part of the Volturi and has Edwards powers, F/M, Rey is a werewolf, Twilight AU, bite bite fall in love, this is pretty graphic pls dont read if thats not ur jam thanks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisinala/pseuds/sisinala
Summary: This? This was hunger, thirst, need beyond anything he ever felt before--nothing burned like this, not even those endless days when all he felt were the flames of venom boiling in his veins--that he didn't even notice that the scent wasn't blood. Too late to notice that their head was silent as a still lake.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	what caused the wound, how large the teeth?

Her mouth still tasted like fox blood. Bits of bone poked in the insides of her cheeks, and she ran her tongue over her teeth to dislodge them, dreading their smooth, pointed tastlessness--the fox looked bigger than it actually was and she probably spent more energy chasing it down. She licks her muzzle, chasing the lingering taste of blood. The meal just made her all the more hungry. The light of the moon was strong over the gnarled roots, black and slippery with nests of various sized things that bit if you tread over their carefully concealed nests. 

The forest was a gentle quiet, slow heartbeats and low buzzing. Only she and the moon made any sound. She could almost hear it, her only companion, her only friend--all the way up in the sky and untouchable. She carefully steps over the roots, listening to the sound of her feet because it was the only thing to hear. A single gust of wind shook the leaves above, rustling the fur on the tips of her ears, the topmost hairs on her back. 

She smelled the stagnant water of her favorite pond before she saw it, and she roved her ears around as she approached. There had been a time that drinking was a respected act of vulnerability, a circle of ground along the water that enabled peace between the hunter and the hunted, but the rivers had dried and most of the other ponds have been poisoned with the blood of those who were the last to learn the forest’s new laws. It had been a long time since then. No other creatures drifted near, and the moon was round on the surface of the water, those strange bits of light that came with it sometimes not there to accompany it tonight. Sad to think that even the moon had company other than her; only she was truly alone. 

She stood silently some distance away from the water, waiting. For something. She lets the space of a couple breaths occupy her--was it because the water was unsafe? No, the snapping jaws that used to live beneath it have now been feasted upon those it used to feast on, starved by the same drought that left her in these woods. She kicked at the paper-dry leaves at her feet, delighting at the crackling sound they made before turning to the water, shaking her head at the thought of waiting. For something. 

It tasted like it always did, like mud and dirt and several other dead things. She dipped her snout into it, whatever blood left was too old to enjoy and now tasted wrong. 

Danger came without a notched arrow, no singing of a spear shaft through the air. It came with the soft sound of weathered boots, almost failing to have their purchase on the soft ground. Still, she jumped back, her front low with her claws out, teeth bared and gleaming. This man stood taller than the rest of his kind, but only could come up to her elbow. The man did not seem surprised, then again he didn’t look at her in fear when he saw that she was much bigger than the biggest wolf he saw in his life, standing here almost twice as tall as him. No, he looked… relieved.

He had no weapon in his hand, no sword nor knife to protect him. She could have placed her paw on his chest and squeezed the air out of him and he looked like he would not even fight back--he looked strong, but not strong enough. He was no danger to her, not as he was, but still it made her ears flatten against her head and her tail to tuck lower than she intended. She would not run. This was _her_ forest and this man was no threat-- 

His face was paler than the moon's, dark hair fell around his face where it was not covered by his black hood rimmed with red at the edge. He was wide and tall, larger than she expected now that he had moved away from the shadows. Looking at him was painful. Was he not human, then? He looked like one, but his sickly sweet scent was heavy on her tongue, tinted by the taste of smoke and lightning. His clothing bore no silver, no blessed bottle of oils that burned like acid in her nose hung around his hip--not that any of those things protected travellers in any way. He looked as if he was out for a stroll on a paved path, not lost in her forest. Was it his eyes? Warm as the sun that did not shine through the crowns of the trees miles above, red as blood. 

She dropped lower, waiting for him to strike. 

They’ve come after her before, these red-eyed demons. Stronger than bears and faster than dragonflies on the hunt, one of them wrapped their hand around her ankle and with a squeeze, crushed all the small bones inside. They did not stop chasing after her, not even with limbs bitten off completely, there was only way she knew how to stop them. Knowledge she bore the scars to learn. 

This one… something was even stranger with this one. Whatever he was, there was no anger in his eyes. No accusation. A trophy then. A prize. Her heart carved out in exchange for crates of jewels or his weight in gold or a beautiful princess’s hand. The others had laughed, taunted. To him she was simply a beast to slay. He was still coming up to her, the sound of his feet like thunder in her ears. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t even heard him come toward her until she saw him. She responds in the only language she knows and bites him in the neck. 

…

_"I've never seen a moon this big. It's beautiful," a man sighed to his lover, sitting on a cliff overlooking trees drenched in the light of the moon, silver crowning the darkness. No light touches the grass below. "Yes, it's beautiful," the other man sighed, thoughts tinted with the face of the other, the way his dark eyes glittered._

_"The eggs would last us another week, I think." A woman, the oldest sister lying next to her sleeping siblings, recalling the half-filled wicker basket she came back to over and over in hopes that the next time she ran her hands over them that there would be nine, not eight. The littlest one looked too thin. When will their parents return from the forest?_

_"It's going to be another long winter, I feel it in my knees. Don't you think?" This was followed by the feel of ancient shaking fingers curling over well-worn pants. Wool, from the feel of it._

_"Higher, darling. Yes, there. Oh!"_

He shook his head and forced his legs faster. The trees blur around him. The village couldn't be far enough, its dim lights fading in the distance but its sleeping villagers' voices chasing him anyway. He tried to lose himself to the wind that whipped at his face, the ground that made no sound as he glided impossibly over it, no footsteps left behind. It shouldn't make sense, the force of his feet at this speed should carve deep cracks even on stone, but no leaf ever shook as he passed by if he did not touch it. There are many things that he knew should not be, that he just knew were wrong based on the life he lived that's now lost to him, but these things are all he has now.

Lone set of feet heading towards water. Splashing. The smell of rank and moss. Instinctively, he turned to move towards the sound. He was too distracted by the hollow hands of hunger clawing its way to his throat, the dryness in his mouth and his eyes, the way every thought turned into _want_ , to realize that the scent was unlike anything he'd smelled before. He'd starved, because it made him stronger. The desperation made him better, faster, more savage. A hound on a leash that tore when set free. It was what he was made for. But now he was almost beyond reason, and even dogs need to eat else they turn back and bite their master's hand. 

He inhaled once more, pushed the truly delectable scent into his lungs. 

This? This was hunger, thirst, need beyond anything he ever felt before--nothing burned like this, not even those endless days when all he felt were the flames of venom boiling in his veins--that he didn't even notice that the scent wasn't blood. Too late to notice that their head was silent as a still lake. 

His head whips to the side. 

He clamps his hand around the figure's throat, easily catching them by surprise as he swings them down with the ease of a seasoned hunter. Still, her speed was amazing. If she had not snarled--possibly an attempt to catch him off guard--he would not have turned immediately. The creature could have bitten his head clean off. He growled angrily, anger flaring at this creature who managed to come closer than anyone has before, tightening his fingers around its throat that he hears bone strain under their weight.

It looked like a wolf, only several times larger with teeth as sharp as his. Its fur was matted in several places, blood and dirt soaked through what must have been faded yellowish-gray fur. The clouds of black over its back and tail could have been a pattern or just dried spots of mud. Fear rolled off of it in waves, making the very air taste like rust in his mouth. Its amber orange eyes reflected the light of the moon, fangs uselessly snapped in the air as it tried to claw at his arm to push him off. 

"Scavenger," they called it that in the village. That was the only name his master had given to him when he was set to this task. _Whatever creature it is, it threatens our hunting grounds. And you know how we've responsibly kept harvesting carefully, yes?_

The village was small but it was nestled on the only path between several cities, travellers from all over the continent passed through, names and faces that constantly shifted with no promise of ever being seen there again. Travellers that were lost to the woods, swallowed by the forest. And they fed the villagers stories, sending cloaked strangers that whispered of mountain cats that stood taller than horses, tree roots that shifted in the night, fruit that looked edible hanging from low branches with seeds that looked like teeth. Now there were other stories. Tales of bears left torn to shreds in their dens, their twisted necks the only kindness whatever monster feasted upon it had bestowed. Deer and mountain lions alike strung up on branches, stiff as fragile statues, their ripped hides clinging to their bones with all their insides licked clean. 

_"Something hunts here,"_ this they knew to be right. 

So why has no human been killed? 

The creature stopped struggling, panting at whatever air he allowed it to breathe, eyes wide and frightened. Its flailing earlier marked the sleeves of dark robes with dirt and sand, claws gaining purchase on the cloth that tore in clean strips--there were silvery lines on the skin of his arm, almost faded now, new lines over the ones he already had. Its claws had wounded him. If he had only turned half a second late later--

Now he knew how the ones before him had gone. 

It _whines_ , teary-eyed and ears flat against its head. It looks at him like he knew the decision he made, what the certainty of his grip around its neck meant. It panted faster, chest rising and falling, whining at every breath, each sound grating painfully in his ear. The creature started to spasm, twisting in painful jerks that broke bone. He heard them pop, crack, rearrange itself inside the large body. At first he thought that only its fur shook, but now he could see that the muscle--the very tissue underneath--fluttered in waves. If his heart beat, he was sure it would be racing now. There were few things that surprised him, and he admitted to himself that this was strange even for him, but he refused to let go. Its paws curled uselessly on the ground, and it was here that he saw the first marked change: its fingers turning smaller, thinner and elongated, still clawed in dirty sharp points, but very obviously human. Where a strong furred neck was before, a pulse jumped underneath his fingertips, covered only by warm skin. He felt a reluctance to look, as if looking would make this strangeness more real. Drawing his eyes from those fingers, up a scarred forearm, to a shoulder with matted hair sticking to sweat and dirt, to a flawless neck lined only with soil, to a quivering chin and tear-stained cheeks. Her eyes were closed. Were they still amber? 

She seemed comfortable in her nakedness, truly a wild and feral thing; more animal than woman--and she wasn't, not entirely. So this is her. This was what his master was so afraid of. A single wolf with no pack, alone in this forest eating nothing but scrap and looking very much like the scavenger she was. And still her chin was jutted out defiantly, tears carving shimmering lines along the bridge of her nose. The silence was unnerving. _What are you thinking, little one?_

She opens her eyes, blazing amber still. Her voice sounded rough, unused, gruff like she had gravel in her throat. A furrow between her brows appeared as she tried to reach out for words that she must have not used in a long time; vowels stilted, he could barely make it out, 

"Kill... fast… please." 

His mind was racing with thoughts too fast that he couldn't catch any meaning. She flops down motionless to the ground once more, his hand has unconsciously loosened enough that her eyes flip back open. 

He only saw a flicker of amber, the rising of a clawed hand, and a searing heat from the top of his brow to the high point of his cheek. She shifts and disappears in a yellow blur.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I am still alive (hooray!!) I'm just in a really bad relationship with my writing right now and most of the time feeling like setting all my works on fire haha (so yea um save them, if u like?¿) If u noticed I hid startrails for a while because I intend to edit it (hopefully??) Anyway I'm still writing I have so many chapters for my wips that only have one uncompleted scenes I'm having trouble with. Anyway here's a thing!!! I think this will have more chaps i think?? But im not sure since this only came to me when i listened to In The Woods Somewhere by Hozier :)


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